


ten percent luck

by justjoy



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, One Shot, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13342005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justjoy/pseuds/justjoy
Summary: There are still moments, for Sameen: bad moments when one or both of them slip up just a little too far and suddenly it’s the wrong AI speaking with the right voice again until she remembers in a sharp breath, a realignment of reality.





	ten percent luck

**Author's Note:**

> a short post-finale poi drabble, because it’s ridiculous that i’ve never written anything for this show despite... well, basically everything amazing about it. with an unrelated but definite shoutout to @potcpoi on tumblr, whose copious tags and general enthusiasm never fail to remind me of why i fell in love with this show in the first place.

There are still moments, for Sameen: bad moments when one or both of them slip up just a little too far and suddenly it’s the wrong AI speaking with the right voice again until she remembers in a sharp breath, a realignment of reality.

(Practically speaking, it’s partly because of Root being... in the cloud, or a 97.3% accurate copy thereof, or whatever the hell this is, but just as much Sameen not always knowing how to be herself anymore, out of the seven thousand selves she hasn’t been.

At least she doesn’t have to sell makeup anymore, though. That’s a sure plus.)

“I can choose another voice, if that would help.” Root sounds worried after the seventh time this happens – concerned, even, in her ear, though that dissipates soon enough. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer the old recorded voices? Patchwork’s back in style these days, I hear.”

Sameen growls in irritation as she moves through the crowd, quickly, blinking in the bright sunlight of the sidewalk. “Don’t you dare. And what’s your sources for that, anyway? A knitting group of grandmas?”

“I wouldn’t underestimate the damage enough octogenarians with sharp implements can do if I were you, Sameen.” The amusement’s definitely there, now, and she’s just as definitely not imagining what a bunch of sharp implements could do to  _that_.

“You say that like I haven’t incapacitated trained operatives with less,” Sameen retorts instead, and blithely ignores the alarmed look she gets from a passerby at that. “Answer’s still no, anyway.”

No question comes in response, and Sameen appreciates it – that chatting with local robot overlords means being able to jump between conversations without anyone getting confused, of course, but also that Root (or the-Machine-as-Root, whatever) doesn’t ask if she’s sure.

Because Sameen is, because she’d rather lose her favourite grenade launcher than let the sorry charred husks of Samaritan and Decima (she’d seen to that herself) take this from them too. Because the bad moments come less than the okay ones and maybe they’ll make it to good someday, at least in Root’s overly optimistic opinion. Because, because.

Sameen clears her throat with a cough and stops at an intersection. “You were talking about the Number?”

“Well, you already have  _my_  number, sweetie,” purrs Root as the light turns green, and Sameen rolls her eyes so hard they’re in actual medical danger of falling out.

“I regret my life choices already,” she says to everyone and no one in particular, and Root laughs in her ear with a hundred percent accuracy.

 

 

 


End file.
